Cover Stories: Wounded
by willwrite4fics
Summary: Hogan almost panics when a Hero is wounded on one of their early outings to retrieve downed pilots. How can he cover up a gunshot wound so the Germans don't suspect the operation? warning: Blood. If you are akin to LeBeau and faint, it's not my fault.
1. Chapter 1

Here's another story from very early in the operation. The Heroes have begun to retrieve downed fliers in earnest, but it is still very near the beginning of things. This means there's no Carter yet(sorry, Carter fans! I love him too!) and the operation is not as polished and smooth and Hogan hasn't quite gotten perfect at rearranging the facts on the fly.

Massive thank yous to my beta(s) and friends and to River95 who gave this the old once-over to make sure it didn't suck. It is only two chapters long.

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Hogan wasn't certain how this simple retrieval mission had gone so wrong so quickly. His eyes took in the small group moving as silently as possible through the snow and brush. Kinch was virtually carrying Newkirk at this point, the Englishman gritting his teeth against the pain of a bullet lodged somewhere in his thigh. Hogan paused long enough for the downed flier they had grabbed to pass him.

He watched their back trail for only a few seconds, the quiet of the woods finally unbroken by shouted German. The SS patrol had surprised them as they finished burying the flier's parachute. Hogan had instantly sprinted for the brush and trees, the flier on his heels. Unfortunately the shouts of 'Halt!' had caused both Kinch and Newkirk to freeze in place.

He couldn't lay the blame wholly on the two men. Both of them had spent too long in the camps and automatically froze at certain shouted commands. To their credit, it was only for a split second before they took off at top speed right behind Hogan. But that was long enough for Newkirk to take a bullet in his leg. Hogan had no idea how badly hurt he was, they had only paused long enough for Kinch to wrap and tighten his scarf around the thigh wound.

When Hogan had asked how bad it was, Kinch replied in a low whisper, letting him know the bullet was still in the wound and Newkirk was losing a lot of blood.

Newkirk had been gasping raggedly with the pain and exertion. "I don't think it's broke… I can go..." Despite his claim, when the noises of the patrol came to their ears again, he hadn't been able to put weight on it and Kinch had begun to help him. It didn't slow them much. The sheer terror in Newkirk's face the first time he'd pleaded for them to leave him behind had clenched Hogan's stomach.

"Don't be stupid, we're not leaving anyone." Hogan fell back behind them briefly then moved ahead again, scouting ahead to make sure no SS patrols had closed off their route back to camp. The flier had been quiet, probably still somewhat in shock at being shot down and grabbed by strangers. Being shot at by the SS hadn't helped him any.

As they grew closer to the camp and the tunnel entrance, Hogan began to turn his mind from getting his men safely back to camp and to how he could possibly hide a gunshot wound from the guards and kommandant. He put a hand on the flier's arm to slow him down. "Easy..." he whispered. "Stay quiet, no matter what you see, it'll be okay." Hogan turned to see Kinch half-dragging Newkirk to the edge of the little clearing. "How is he?"

Kinch's voice was the merest whisper in the dark. "Pretty bad… he's in a lotta pain, sir. What are we going to do?" The deep voice now held a lot of concern and Hogan knew that his second-in-command was thinking of the same problems as he was.

"Get him in the tunnel first, worry about everything else afterwards." Hogan put a hand to Newkirk's chest feeling it heaving for breath. "Hey, Newkirk? You're going to make it."

"Sod off, I'm..." Newkirk inhaled sharply as his leg dragged against a low bush. "….fine…." His jaw clenched against any cry of pain. They were too close to the wire. One guard hearing them could send the entire operation into a tailspin.

"Okay… watch the searchlights." Hogan's advice was unneeded but he was beginning to feel just a tiny trickle of panic inside. He had a man with a bullet in him. He couldn't explain it away to Klink with some clever words. Newkirk needed medical care and they couldn't very well hide him in the damp dirty tunnels with an open wound. He needed to stay somewhere warmer and clean and where a medic or a doctor could treat him.

Reaching the tree stump, Hogan paused before darting forward as the searchlight passed and tugged it open. Ushering the flier down first, he ducked behind the stump for the next pass and then waved Kinch over. Getting Newkirk into the tunnel was hard and Hogan thanked his lucky stars that Kinch had come along tonight. His strength was all that kept the Englishman's body from tumbling all the way to the tunnel floor. One last pause and Hogan was down into the tunnel himself. Now he could finally breathe just a little easier. They were safe from SS patrols now.

One glance at the half-conscious man laying in the dirt floor of the tunnel reminded him that only half the problems were solved. "Okay, how bad is it?" Kinch was untying the scarf and Newkirk let out a loud moan. "Easy old man, we'll take care of you."

"Bloody 'ell… 'ow are you going to do that?" Newkirk made a face as Kinch jostled the leg. "Ahhh please don't…." His face turned to Hogan's with a desperate expression. "What will you tell Klink? If 'e knows I've been bloody well shot, 'e'll call the SS!"

"I'm not letting anyone give you to the SS." said Hogan in what he hoped passed for a calm reassuring tone. He still didn't know how to hide a gunshot wound. They'd had such good luck in the last half dozen runs outside the camp. Had they gotten overconfident? Had he led them into danger? "Kinch, is the bullet still in his leg?"

Kinch straightened up from trying to peer at the wound. "Just an entrance wound… it's still in there." He lowered his voice more. "Should I go get Wilson?"

Hogan nodded. "Go now, keep your head down though." He watched Kinch take off through the narrow tunnels to Wilson's barracks. Then he turned his attention back to the wounded man under his hands. "Let's get some pressure on this. Maybe we can stop the bleeding before Wilson gets here."

Newkirk jerked as Hogan leaned on the wound. The steady flow of blood lessened and the flow of soft curses increased.

Hogan felt helpless despite the bleeding stopping. He needed to come up with a scheme and he needed to do it now.

A throat was cleared behind him, reminding him of the flier. "Not to be a nosy nellie, but are we really under a POW camp?"

Hogan smiled at the young man. "Yep, sorry for the fuss. Usually this goes much smoother."

Newkirk lifted one hand weakly. "I'm just such a bother..."

"Shush you." Hogan lifted the cloth off the leg and saw blood well up immediately. He replaced the cloth quickly. "Wilson will fix it up, just be still."

"I was thinking, sir..." Newkirk blinked slowly, staring up at the dark roof of the tunnel. "Maybe I should just pass out now?"

"No!" Hogan shifted up to look at him closer. "Don't you dare. Just try to breathe and try to stop bleeding all over. It's making a mess."

"It doesn't matter… the SS will just shoot me again." Newkirk's voice sounded alarmingly weak now.

"I told you, no SS. Don't worry." Hogan looked down the dark tunnel. "Damn it, where IS Kinch with Wilson?"

Newkirk reached down to his leg, wincing. "That really 'urts. When Klink sees this leg, 'e won't 'ave any choice. Once 'e reports this to the SS, I'm done for. It's not like a guard shot me, sir."

Hogan's head snapped up at that. "No…" His thoughts seized on the tiny germ of an idea and tried to grow it. Kinch and Wilson came rushing down to Newkirk, Wilson making distressed noises at the puddle of blood. "Wait… everyone just wait a minute."

"We can't wait." Wilson reached to take the cloth away and poked a finger in through the hole in Newkirk's uniform pants. "He's lost a lot of blood already."

When Wilson reached for his medical bag, Hogan grabbed his wrist. "Stop. Don't treat him." Hogan got up and went to take Newkirk under his arms to lift him to a sitting position. "Sorry, I know this is going to hurt. Kinch… give me a hand, let's get him up."

Newkirk was swallowing back soft cries of pain as Hogan forced him up to his feet. Kinch moved to support him from the side. "Sir, he's hurt! Where are you moving him to?"

Wilson protested as well. "At least let me dress the wound! It's still bleeding! Where are you taking him?"

Hogan barely waited for Kinch to get under Newkirk's other arm. "We're going to throw him out in the compound."

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End Chapter

What? Hogan why? I'll bet most of the readers have already figured Hogan's plan out. Stay tuned for the next chapter to conclude the exciting early adventures. Thank you for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you all for reading! The reviews were all grand and I appreciate them. This is the second half, and end of the fic.

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"Wait… what?" Newkirk roused enough to protest himself. "Throw me _where_?"

"It'll be fine. Trust me." soothed Hogan. "Which tower does Schmitt usually take at this hour of the night?"

"North… second from the corner," answered Newkirk weakly. "I don't want to be thrown into the compound."

"Uhh sir, maybe we should think about this a little bit," said Kinch. He sounded wary. They reached the entrance to the barracks and started the laborious process of getting the wounded Britishman up the ladder. Kinch took most of his weight and Hogan scrambled up to grab him as soon as they reached the top. "I mean, Newkirk can be pretty annoying but I can forgive all that. We really don't need to just throw him to the Germans… he's a good guy."

"Annoying? Bloody 'ell Kinch! What'd I ever do to you?" Newkirk gritted his teeth as they lifted his injured leg over the frame of the barracks. "Sir, I'm really sorry… please don't throw me out."

"Quiet… everyone quiet!" hissed Hogan at the suddenly roused barracks. LeBeau came rushing up in the dark. "Shhhh! LeBeau check the door."

Wilson moved up to beside Hogan to speak in a soft voice. "Sir, please, let me treat him. Whatever he did, I'm sure he's sorry."

Hogan rolled his eyes. "Wilson, get back to your barracks. Get your stuff ready and wait until the Krauts come get you. Got it? Go." He looked at the medic steadily. "Trust me. Go."

Wilson hesitated but left reluctantly. Once he was down the ladder, Hogan turned to Olson next. "There's a flier in the tunnels. Go down and tell him to just lay low and we'll come down to set him up as soon as we can. Then get back up here."

Newkirk was struggling to keep his balance. "Sir." He put one hand on Hogan's shoulder. "I'm very sorry. Very very sorry, 'onestly. I am." He sounded incredibly sincere and it made Hogan smile a little at him. "Please sir… don't kick me out."

"I'm not kicking you out." Despite his words, Hogan began to shift them to the door. "We're just going to take you outside and dump you in the compound. You said the north fence, right?" Hogan whispered to LeBeau. "Is it clear?"

"Oui, but mon colonel..." began LeBeau.

"Quiet. LeBeau, get one of the rifles and load a round into it. We'll be right back." Hogan shifted himself further under Newkirk's arm. "Kinch, take his other side. We can carry him faster than he can walk." Taking a moment to pat Newkirk on the chest, Hogan gentled his voice. "Look, we'll take you out there and leave you… shhh… trust me. Once you hear the gunshot, you start screaming. Really loud, okay? The guards will find you quickly and I'll come as soon as I can, got it? Just make sure they find you fast, you're still bleeding."

"Gunshot? I'm already shot!" protested Newkirk.

"Shhh… don't make any noise until you hear the gun go off." Hogan checked out through the door, then they were moving across the darkened compound. Timing the movements to avoid the searchlights, Hogan and Kinch carried Newkirk around one of the barracks, coming near to the north fenceline. Keeping his voice to a soft whisper, Hogan spoke into Newkirk's ear. "Remember, wait for the shot. It'll be okay." He waved Kinch back and hefted Newkirk's weight as best he could, moving him to within ten feet of the wire and letting him down onto the snow covered ground. "Sorry, Newkirk. I know it's cold. It won't be long." With that, he left the wounded man in the snow and retreated to the corner of the building. "Come on, Kinch, let's get back to the barracks. It's cold out here."

Kinch was staring at him and looked to the dim shadow on the ground near the wire. "Sir, I'm not leaving Peter out here."

"Yes you are. Let's go." Hogan started away and realized that Kinch hadn't moved. "I'll make it an order. Now, Kinch."

The big sergeant still hesitated before finally lowering his head and nodding. "Yes sir." Hogan still made sure he was following as they scurried back across the compound to the barracks.

Once inside, LeBeau looked from Hogan to Kinch. His voice went a little shrill. "Where's Newkirk?"

"Quiet! Do you want the guards to hear you?" Hogan took the rifle. "Is it loaded?" LeBeau nodded. "Good job." He poked his head out of the door and waited for a searchlight to pass. Shoving the rifle out of the door, he pointed it up and fired the shot off. Jerking inside and slamming the door shut, he passed the rifle back to LeBeau. "Drop it in the tunnel and close the entrance quick. Is Olson back up here?" Distant screaming began immediately.

Olson pushed forward. "Yes, where's Newkirk? What did you do?" Suspicion was clear in his voice.

"I know it seems weird, it's the only way." Hogan listened to the alarms going off and saw the lights out in the compound come on. "There they go. They'll find him, he's right by the fence." He waited a few seconds, then noticed all the faces staring at him. "Look guys, this way the Krauts will think one of the guards shot him. See? No reports of unexplained gunshot wounds, so no reports to the SS of a prisoner popping up in the night with a gunshot wound right after one of them shot someone helping the Allied airman in the woods, right?"

Kinch's face was the first to break into a smile. "It's brilliant. Sir, sorry."

LeBeau looked more distressed. "Wait! Who shot Newkirk?"

Hogan waved him silent to listen at the door to the shouting and screams. "I'm going out, everyone stay put." He slipped out of the door and checked for a guard before he walked quickly to the source of the commotion. He found guards surrounding a screaming Newkirk on the ground and immediately pushed himself into the confusion, shouting at everyone. "What are you doing! Leave that man alone! Who shot one of my men!?" Kneeling down next to Newkirk, he cradled him in his arms. Lowering his voice, he whispered. "Doing okay?"

"Permission to pass out, sir?" Newkirk was struggling to keep his eyes open as his screams began to falter.

"Permission denied, you stay with me." Hogan lifted his head. "Someone get our medic! This man is shot! Who shot him!?"

He barely heard Newkirk's soft mumble. "Oh sod off..." as he went limp.

"Newkirk?" Hogan shook him gently but he'd slipped into unconsciousness. Now truly alarmed, he raised his voice again. "Get a medic!"

Klink finally arrived and tried to take charge. "What is going on here!? This man was trying to escape, Hogan! What are you doing out here!?"

Several of the guards began trying to explain at once just as Langenscheidt arrived with Wilson in tow. The medic eyed Hogan sideways as he knelt down next to Newkirk. Hogan got out of his way and approached Klink. "I must protest, Kommandant! My man could have been killed!" He ignored the mutters from Wilson. "Your trigger happy guards shot him! I demand to know which guard shot him!"

Klink drew himself up. "Colonel Hogan, you should count yourself lucky that he isn't dead and also that I don't throw you into the cooler for insubordination." His paleness and the way his fingers twitched as he gripped the edges of his coat told Hogan he was truly distressed over the incident. "It is regrettable that Corporal Newkirk was foolish enough to attempt to escape. Again."

Hogan made some more token protests even as he began to relax a little bit. It didn't matter that there was no guilty guard to confess. Klink would assume that whoever did it wanted to stay out of trouble. He began to argue that Newkirk should be moved to the infirmary but Wilson simply directed two of the guards to pick up his patient and began moving off to the infirmary without waiting.

Klink pointed. "Where are they taking that man?"

Langenscheidt bobbed his head as he stepped up. "Yes, herr kommandant. They are moving the prisoner to the infirmary, herr kommandant. He is badly injured."

Klink wavered then. "Well of course, the Geneva Convention dictates medical care, so of course I would allow your medic to care for his injuries." He pressed his lips together before looking a little worried. "He can care for him, right?"

Hogan stepped up. "There's no way to tell yet, considering that your guard shot him..."

Klink interrupted him. "No one has proven any of my guards shot anyone."

Almost on cue, Schmitt arrived at a run, rifle held firmly in hand. "Herr kommandant! I beg to report that I was the one who shot the escaping prisoner!" He stood proudly at attention.

Hogan stood staring open mouthed at the guard for a second before snapping his mouth shut and forcing a glare onto his face. Even while he vilified the guard's supposed actions and complained loudly to Klink, inside he was gleeful over how well this was working. Not only had he set it up to appear that a guard shot his man, now one of the guards was confessing to it. He maneuvered Klink into going to the infirmary to check on Newkirk so that Hogan could see what was going on.

They found Wilson working on Newkirk's now rather messy looking leg wound. One German guard had been dragooned into helping although he was looking distinctly green and the other one was sitting by Newkirk's head trying not to watch the medic doing _things_ inside the leg muscles.

Hogan stepped up, took one glance at the sliced open leg and quickly looked aside. "How is he?"

Wilson did glance over at Klink who had stayed near the door. "He's going to be okay." He reached to check the pulse under Newkirk's jaw. "He's very weak though. I need a volunteer for some blood." His fingers went back to work inside the wound. "The bullet glanced off the bone and I've got a lot of stitching to do." The glare returned as he looked at his green assistant. "Hold that retractor still!"

The guard protested. "Was habe ich getan?"

"Just hold it still!" Wilson's usual timidity with the Germans always vanished in the middle of any medical crisis. Afterward, he'd be a nervous wreck trying to hold up any type of scheme Hogan thrust him into, but when he was covered in blood, his demeanor changed entirely. Both of the guards acted terrified of the medic and the one holding the medical instrument in the wound looked rather pleadingly at Hogan for help. Hogan shrugged slightly at him and backed off.

He sidled up to Klink. "I suggest we get out of Wilson's way."

Klink tried to look more haughty than ill, looking down his nose at the American colonel. "I will not. I am the kommandant of this..."

"I SAID hold it still! If you move that one more time.."

Klink turned and shot out of the infirmary door just in front of Hogan. Once they were both outside, they looked at each other and then away. Klink cleared his throat. "I have to make a report on this. Hogan, I suggest that you take this as a serious lesson on the futility of attempting to escape." He glanced at the closed door. "However, I think that Corporal Newkirk has punishment enough. If your medic needs anything, have Corporal Langenscheidt get it."

"Thank you Kommandant Klink. I'm sure that Wilson will appreciate how humane and generous you are." Hogan watched the German making a hasty retreat. The sky was finally beginning to lighten in the east and he stretched. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and went back into the infirmary to ask how to decide which man could donate blood. Wilson couldn't be all that bad if Hogan was helping, right?

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It was only about two days later when Hogan came striding into the infirmary. He found Newkirk propped up comfortably on a cot next to the woodstove, playing cards with Wilson. From the scattering of objects on his blanket, they were using tongue depressors and toothpicks as markers. From the look on Wilson's face, Newkirk was recovered enough to be winning every hand.

"Well, it won't be long before we can go back to accusing Newkirk of goldbricking." Hogan smiled.

Wilson grunted softly as he adjusted his cards. "A few more days before he can be up."

Newkirk snorted at him. "I could be up now if you weren't such a mother 'en about things."

"I'm the medic. You get up when I say you can get up." Wilson's glaring had zero affect on the Cockney. "You get up too soon and you'll tear open your leg and I'll have to go back and restitch it."

"Wouldn't want that to 'appen." Newkirk turned a rather cheery if tired look on the colonel. "Oh 'ello gov'ner. Want to 'ave a go at a 'and of cards? Wilson is a terrible player."

"No, it makes me look bad when I lose to a guy flat on his back in the infirmary." Hogan was pleased to see Newkirk alert enough to banter. The first day afterward had been tense as Wilson worried over giving him enough blood and watching for any signs of infection. Considering that Hogan didn't know much about medical things, he'd taken his cue from the medic and worried an appropriate amount as well.

Looking up at Hogan, Newkirk smiled at him. "Sir, would you make sure that LeBeau doesn't bring dinner when Wilson is changing me bandages? Last time, 'e near tossed on me. I don't fancy 'aving to deal with that."

Hogan nodded. "Not a problem. Wilson, do you need anything? Klink is being generous right now so if you need to stock up on any medical supplies, for up here or down below, make a list."

"Really?" Wilson laid his cards aside, then looked suspiciously at Newkirk and moved them further away before he got up. "I gave Langenscheidt a short list, but I didn't want to push my luck and get nothing."

Hogan followed him to the beat up little desk in the far corner of the room. "Might as well ask for it all. If Klink backs down on the offer, I'll just run him through here and Newkirk can look extra pitiful and you can be changing the bandages. Klink would agree to give you a full operating room to get out of here then."

Wilson began writing quickly. "I don't see why seeing a little blood bothers so many soldiers. You shoot people, you fly planes with bombs. But just a little blood on some gauze and I get people falling out right and left."

"It's uhh..." Hogan reached up to tug at his collar. "It's different."

Newkirk sounded too cheerful as he spoke up from his cot. "Oh sir, if you think the blood is bad, you should 'ave seen all the gore from that one right after I woke up! Everything was all clotted like a jelly and there were bits of..."

"I'llcomebacklater..." Hogan made for the door as quickly as dignity allowed. As it closed behind him, he swallowed carefully and calmed himself. "Those two just aren't right." As he headed off across the compound, he smiled to himself anyway. His scheme had worked. The Germans suspected nothing.

And if Newkirk had to end up getting shot, at least it had exposed a small weakness in some of the men. Hogan could work on that. Next time they took a trip outside the wire they would be better prepared. It would make them better at retrieving downed fliers.

After all, it wasn't like they were blowing up bridges.

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End Story

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